


A Voice She Never Heard

by AltonaFalcon



Series: Jihyo x Tzuyu / Jitzu Oneshot Collection [3]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Jitzu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltonaFalcon/pseuds/AltonaFalcon
Summary: They had never exchanged a word. Yet their silence meant so much more.





	A Voice She Never Heard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bLhuez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bLhuez/gifts).



> I dedicated this story to blhuez, a new friend that hasn't received his invitation to AO3 yet. He has been a tremendous help for me to write this story, and for that I'm forever grateful. I would also want to shout out to justwice with his/her old work "Come Back" that inspired this one. Thanks for writing such an emotional story <3
> 
> Also, I would like to share the song in the fic. It's Sing For the Moment by Megurine Luka.

Jihyo loved the silence.

She inhaled deeply, relishing in the fresh coolness of the air around her. She was sitting in the neighborhood park, on a wooden bench placed in an obscure corner. This was her sanctuary, a place for her to escape to whenever the stress of work got to her head.

At the hospital where she worked, there was hardly ever a moment of silence. And even when there was, it was not the good kind. In an environment where everyone was bustling around in a hurry, the silence was dreaded. It was an impure kind of silence- sudden, fleeting, sullied by the monotonous beep of the electrocardiogram machine. it only emerged in the emergency room for a mere second, taking away a piece of her soul as she stared at the lifeless person on the bed. Then came the anguished crying of the relatives, shouting for their beloved to come back, to continue breathing, to open their eyes. Of course, they never did.

This particular silence suffocated her. Being a nurse registered for intensive care unit, she was subject to the chaotic struggle for life on a daily basis; naturally, a battle could not be won every time. In fact, the side of life suffered more losses than wins, and even when it did win, there was little glory, knowing the next battle was bound to come sooner or later.

Being an extra-emotional person, Jihyo tried her damnedest not to get attached with anyone, knowing she would not be able to endure the pain when they passed. Still, the duress of work gradually gnawed at her, killing her inside. One of the few things that kept her going was her private time at the park at night, where she could let go of her worries and simply enjoy the serenity of the surroundings. That was why she had taken to go out here every few days, only skipping out when the work division decided otherwise.

Tonight however, she was not alone. As she reached her normal spot, she was surprised to see it occupied- a young girl, no more than 20, was sitting on the far left of the long bench, reclining against it as she looked at the starry sky. The overhead lamppost illuminated her graceful features- lithe body, porcelain skin, and silky brown hair that seemed almost weightless.

Jihyo had half a mind to turn on her heels and leave, but the girl finally noticed the presence of another person. If she was startled, she did not show it. She merely stared with large unblinking eyes, tilting her head slightly to the side. She was curious, and so was Jihyo.

She decided to mirror the look, tilting her own head to match the sitting girl’s. They both chuckled a bit at their little showdown, and Jihyo decided against leaving.

And thus began their nightly meetings: reaching the same spot at more or less the same time, exchanging minimal amount of greetings, then sitting in silence with their respective thoughts until either of them got sleepy and left.

_____

 

There are times when the girl left alone. Other times, she was picked up by her caretaker. It was a gentle-looking elderly woman, dressed in a maid dress, who always called out for Tzuyu in a slow, quiet tone.

“Come, Tzuyu-ah, let’s get you home.”

As Tzuyu- whose name was now known to Jihyo- slowly stood up and followed the woman home, she looked back and waved goodbye. It was the slightest of waves; the girl did not move so much as three fingers, yet Jihyo could feel the warmth from the gesture.

_See you later._

With that she headed off, the caretaker in tow.

Suddenly, solitary silence did not feel as comfortable as it should have been.

_____

Jihyo was walking towards their spot one day when she heard music. It was strange, hearing a melody take over the silence.

As the nurse reached her destination, she beheld an angel with a violin. That night, Tzuyu was dressed in a pure white dress that was almost incandescent under the moonlight, her long flowing brown tresses resting on the exposed shoulder. Her skintone, normally perceived by others as pale and borderline sickly, was of the most immaculate whiteness in Jihyo’s eyes.

Tzuyu must have anticipated her presence, as she did not seem troubled at all when she saw Jihyo appear in the corner of her eyes. She continued to play the violin with even heightened concentration.

The song, Jihyo noticed, was a particularly sad one. The melody swept her away as each note continued to strike her heart with a profound sense of melancholy. It filled the air without effort, rushing to fill the atmosphere with its slow tempo. It swam further to her soul, diving deep within her like an unstoppable tidal wave, clinging to her like a lost lover, promising to not let go.

Was Tzuyu playing it for her? There was never anyone else here but them; she was trying to send her a message. But why this song? A song filled with too much heartache... was that what she's feeling?

As she struck the last note and the music came to a stop, Tzuyu took a shy bow to Jihyo, who snapped out of her trance and clapped wholeheartedly. She looked up at the smitten nurse, her eyes dancing with mirth and pride.

For many years later, Jihyo spent her meager spare time searching for the song. It had become a drug to her, she was hopelessly addicted.

_____

 

One day, for no particular reason, Jihyo showed up at their usual spot wearing a new shirt. It was pink and flowery. It complimented her figures, and she felt pretty in it.  She approached the bench where Tzuyu was and did a little twirl.

Apparently Tzuyu loved it too, as she widened her eyes and grinned widely, revealing a cute dimple on her left cheek. She rubbed her slender fingers against the fabric, nodding slowly and approvingly.

Tzuyu had never looked so happy before.

The only time when she did, was a few days after, when she herself showed up excitedly in a new sundress, and Jihyo reciprocated the enthusiasm.

_____

Jihyo did not feel well that day. Something felt… off. The air was stale and stagnant, a telltale sign of an ominous event about to unfold.

She was taken aback when Tzuyu appeared. While her slow pace was nothing new, her energy seemed completely drained away- she practically dragged her feet with her, her eyes devoid of warmth and happiness, her arms hanging limply as if all life had left them.

It seemed like the sight of Jihyo was too much for her, and Tzuyu gave an involuntary choke. Her final line of defense broke down completely, allowing the tears to fall freely.

Jihyo wasted no time rushing to the fragile girl. Whipping out her handkerchief, she handed it to Tzuyu and gingerly led her to their seat. As soon as they sat down, Tzuyu buried her head in the handkerchief, clutching it for dear life as she continued to sob with abandon.

Jihyo mutely caressed Tzuyu’s shoulder, grimacing as she felt hard bones underneath the pale skin. She has been losing weight, Jihyo thought to herself as she continued to examine Tzuyu’s wellbeing in the disguise of soft, soothing touches.

She turned to the teary-eyed girl beside her, her mind swimming in questions. _Why are you crying? What’s wrong? Is there anything, just anything I can do to help you?_ For once, she wanted to reach out to Tzuyu, even if it meant breaking the sacred silence that they both cherished.

Her slight intake of breath when she started to speak did not go unnoticed by Tzuyu. The girl immediately reached up and put a finger on Jihyo’s lips, all the while staring deep into her eyes. Almost inperceptibly, she shook her head.

Jihyo dared not disobey.

And so they sat, with Tzuyu’s head resting upon Jihyo’s shoulder, seeking comfort as her tears flowed uncontrollably. Wordlessly, the nurse held the crying girl by her side, drawing soothing circles on her hand as she stared into the cruel blackness of night.

_____

The next day found Jihyo standing, beyond astonished, as she looked at the newest patient to be admitted to the hospital. Said patient mirrored the stare, shock apparent in her round onyx eyes. Their connection was broken, as quickly as it started, as the stretcher proceeded down the hall, turning left- towards the surgical wards.

She first thought she was hallucinating, her mind still haunted by what transpired yesterday night. Still, a quick few steps to the surgical ward, a quick glance at the newly-changed patient list, and Jihyo’s fear was confirmed.

The new patient was indeed Tzuyu, her nightly companion.

_____

Determined as she was to find out Tzuyu’s conditions, Jihyo was devastated to hear it from her colleagues in the surgical ward.

_Thyroid cancer. Diagnosed three years ago, turned bad yesterday. Requires total thyroidectomy. Going in a few hours._

When Jihyo knew Tzuyu needed to undergo the surgery, she was worried. Naturally, since this operation literally dictated the girl’s life. Still, she could not prevent a little selfish part of hers from feeling a bit glad.

She felt terrible thinking this way, but if something were to happen during the surgery, she would not have to suffer the evil silence. She would not have to hear the monotonous sound of the electrocardiogram machine beeping flatly as it failed to detect any sign of life in Tzuyu’s heart.

She did not think she could take it. The pain would be too hard for her own heart to endure.

Conflicting thoughts ran rampant in Jihyo’s mind, distracting her from work, until she found herself waiting outside the operating theater. While it was normal for a nurse to be on standby outside when a surgery was underway, some other nurses shot her odd looks, knowing she had no business in this section, being an ICU-exclusive helper. Still she waited and waited, anxious for the outcome.

She barely managed to maintain composure and not scream out of joy when the surgeon reappeared with a satisfied smile, announcing the surgery a success.

_____

It took Jihyo quite a lot of trouble, asking around her colleagues for a temporary shift from the ICU to the surgical ward. It was against the rules for nurses to look after their acquaintances, but she would not miss Tzuyu’s waking up.

It was well worth the effort, she thought with satisfaction, as she witnessed Tzuyu’s eyelids fluttered open. The girl blinked several times to get used to the blinding white lights. She looked around to register the surroundings, finally landing on the nurse, who was fidgeting with anticipation. Jihyo’s heart swelled when she saw a delighted smile blossom under the transparent oxygen mask.

Tzuyu beckoned Jihyo to come closer, something the nurse was all too happy to comply. After she did, Tzuyu reached upwards and touched the area on Jihyo’s torso. Overcoming the initial shock, Jihyo realized that the girl was looking at her nametag, and that she had yet to introduce herself before.

 _Park Jihyo,_ the bed-ridden girl mouthed silently. Content with the new knowledge, Tzuyu relaxed back down the bed, her adoration-filled eyes never leaving Jihyo. Then, as if remembering something, she fiddled with her clothes underneath the blanket, which was no easy task considering the wires strapped to her left arm. Before long she managed to take out a small object, something she held gingerly in both hands, putting it on her lips before she gave it to Jihyo with a shy look.

It was the handkerchief she gave Tzuyu on their last night at the park. Unfolding the thing, Jihyo found a short message in neat handwriting.

_Thank you._

She looked back at Tzuyu who was blushing madly, her eyes starting to well up with tears. Putting the cloth in her breast pocket, close to her heart, she leaned down and planted a soft, loving kiss on Tzuyu’s forehead.

It felt… _cold._ The temperature did not feel healthy. Jihyo immediately pulled back, and was terrified to see Tzuyu’s paling complexion. The girl was gasping for air despite the oxygen mask, and her face contorted in excruciating pain.

The nurse immediately punched the emergency button. Clutching Tzuyu’s hand in hers, she stared at the patient with a desperate pleading look.

_Stay with me, Tzuyu. Stay with me._

_____

Jihyo did not love the silence that much. She finally realized this eight years later, after experiencing various other kinds of silence during the period. The park welcomed her back a long-lost friend, the relaxing wind lightly caressing her face as she walked.

She had handed in her resignation right the day after, then immediately went through the application process for a famous medschool. While the curriculum was brutal in comparison to nurse training courses, it could not stop Jihyo’s relentless determination. She came back to her old hospital as soon as her doctor training finished, and while she was not yet experienced enough to hold the scalpel, she requested to take up care duty in surgical wards, supervising patients’ wellbeing before and after they entered surgeries.

She vowed, after all, to never again lose another precious life to post-op complications.

If Tzuyu had not been sitting on the bench that day, she would never have become who she was right now.

Jihyo laid down the old handkerchief at the vacant seat and smiled. She remembered the warm sensation as their hands touched, the silent parting words.

_Thank you._

As light as a breath of wind in the silent air, Tzuyu smiled back. After all these years, the innocent smile still shone brightly in Jihyo’s mind.

Jihyo bowed her head. The first teardrop touched the ground. Then another. Then another.

_A nurse does not cry in front of the patient. A doctor does not cry in front of the patient. It is against the rules to be overly attached._

Right now, Jihyo was neither. She was back to being a lost girl, crying for her guiding star.

Was it too much for her to miss a voice she never heard?

 

 


End file.
